


Breakdown

by samchandler1986



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: He isn't teetering on the edge any more, he's fallen off it.





	Breakdown

It’s three in the morning and he’s on his knees on the wet pavement, clutching at where his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. “Not now, not now. Please not now.”

Those are the words in his head, anyway. The sound he’s making is more of a gurgle.

Cars swish past, illuminating him in headlights, splashing him with muddy water from the gutter. No one stops. Why would they? Madman on the pavement, like he’s being crucified on his knees. He’s crazy, drunk, or worse.

And this might just be it, he thinks. This really might be it. The iron taste of blood in his mouth, wet shirt plastered to his back. Just another hack that Hollywood ate up and spat out—

No. No, that’s not it. That’s never been it. The city is a woman, has _always_ been a woman. Only a fool would think he’s no longer in love with her, even though she kicked him to the curb long ago—

Not now, not now. Not like this.

Because that’s a good line and he needs to write it down. He pictures it coming from the hard mouth of some wearied cynic. An ex-cop maybe, grizzled and worn. Someone else who long ago discovered that there ain’t no justice. He can picture it: fedora and cigarettes. Yes, a pastiche, but he’s always been able to make that work. The world might be turning, but human nature remains the same. Selfish and self-destructive, _that’s_ the nature of the beast—

“Sir? Sir, are you okay?”

It takes a moment for him to realise that the voice isn’t inside his own head. A young man stands, haloed in the street lamp. Tall and chisel-jawed, with hippy-ish long hair. Some midwestern lady’s wet dream Jesus. 

Sam Sylvia looks up at him from the sunny slopes of his personal Hell and spits blood onto the pavement. “I dunno kid,” he slurs. “What do you think?”

* * *

He taps his fingers against his leg under the hospital blanket, trying to ignore the itch in his arm where the IV sits. Doesn’t want to look at it, metal in the vein. He shudders. He’s never liked needles. Probably a good thing, all considered. Might be what’s stopped him graduating from snorting to shooting — and that shit _never_ ends well.

What he wants, more than anything, is a cigarette. It’s getting to the point where he’s prepared to wander the corridors in search of a smoke he can bum, backless gown be damned. May as well cast his last shred of dignity to the four winds because he’s got fuck all else to—

“ _Jesus_ Sam.” Ruth, standing in the doorway, derails that train of the thought. She actually covers her mouth with her hand in shock at the sight of him. “What _happened_ to you?”

“I don’t remember,” he lies. His bloodied mouth twists up at the corners, something like a smile. “You should see the other guy though—”

“What other guy? The doctor said you were bought in as a suspected heart attack.”

He closes his mouth, thinking fast as he can in his strung-out state. “Uh, yeah,” he manages. Turns out it’s not very fast at all. “I’m fine, though.”

She takes the seat at his bedside, radiating concern. “You don’t look it.”

“You don’t need to fuss. I’m not a child—”

“Don’t give me that crap. Someone needs to fuss, because what else is this? Other than some overgrown adolescent cry for attention?”

He scowls. “You don’t know me.”

“Yes, I do. Alright? And I’m doing you a _hell_ of a favour picking you up and making sure that the others know nothing about this.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“No, you’ve still got your ex-wife as your next of kin.”

“Really? … Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So,” he tries, putting puzzle pieces together with his remaining brain cells, “why are _you_ here?”

“She came to the gym, thought it was some kind of sick joke.”

“Fuck.”

She puts her head on one side. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“No,” he says, staring pointedly out of the window. But she knows it’s a charade as much as he does, waits him out. Always she has more patience. “Fine,” he cracks. “I want a cigarette first though.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

A black look for this particular piece of petulance. “ _Fine_. I’m assuming you don’t have any on you?”

“No.”

“So, what, you want me to go and buy you a packet?”

“There’s a kiosk by reception.” He sighs. “I don’t have any cash. You know, on me.” He indicates the inadequate hospital gown. 

She shakes her head, anger warring with pity now. “You can pay me back when we get you back to your place.”

“Yeah, okay.”

She doesn’t look back as she heads out of the door. Just as well. He’s doing a fine job of ignoring the large part of himself howling in shame, in rage, at his poor treatment of what might just be his last friend in the world.

_Because she’ll leave you the end. They all do. Better sooner than_ —

She returns in a few minutes, throws the packet at him in disgust from the doorway, and stands in the frame.

“What are you doing now?”

“What do you think? Standing watch.” She waves at the window. “Do your thing and try not to set off the alarms.”

“… Thanks,” he manages, at last.

She shakes her head again. “Don’t thank me. This isn’t me doing the right thing.”

He might agree with her, but the siren song of nicotine is too sweet to ignore. He grabs his lighter and shuffles out of the bed, wheeling his drip over to the window. Trying and failing to keep his gown covering all the essentials as he fiddles with the sash. Finally it opens, and he lights up.

He coughs, theatrically, once he’s finished and safely covered back in bed. “Thanks,” he says again. “You know I get cranky—”

“Yeah, yeah. What _happened_ Sam?”

He sighs. “I ran into an old friend. Johnny. Someone I worked with a—a long time ago.”

“And?”

“And what does it look like? We drank a little, did some blow. And then he…he—”

_—screaming, Johnny is_ screaming _at him_ , _face twisted with anger. Shadows all wrong in the streetlight. “You could have had everything man! And you pissed it all away_ _—_

“—you know, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

Unconsciously he rubs his bruised jaw, where the knuckle marks are staining purple under the stubble. “Yeah.”

“Is he… did you hurt anyone?” she says, higher pitched than normal.

_I wanted to,_ he doesn’t say. He remembers the arms of a doorman, strong as iron, wrapped tight around him. He remembers not caring, fighting with every ounce of strength he had to pay back the punches. And he remembers it not working.

“No,” he says softly.

“Well, that’s a good thing I guess.” She takes the seat at his bedside. “You’ve got to stop doing this, Sam.”

“I did for a while,” he says, mostly to his hands, folded on top of the covers. “When I was married to Carolyn, did I tell you? Clean and sober for a few years.” He risks a glance at her face, finding little comfort in her stricken look. “Yeah. I don’t—I mean, really what’s the point? At this stage? No one left to give a shit."

“Uh,” she squeaks, outraged, “apart from your daughter, maybe?”

“She’s a smart kid. She’ll figure out soon enough I’m not worth the effort.”

“Jesus.” She pinches the bridge of her nose rather than look at him. “You’ve got to stop feeling sorry for yourself like this. There are people in your life now that care about you. That _need_ you. Next time this happens you’ve got to… pick up the ‘phone, dammit. Talk to me.”

 “I’m not asking—”

“No, _I_ am. I don’t want the next call to be to the morgue or something, because no one rang for the ambulance in time.”

“I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job for someone half-assing it!” Softer, she continues: “You don’t have to do it alone, Sam. But you have to do something.”

“Yeah, I—” he starts, but his voice cracks unexpectedly before the sentence has really begun, and he can’t force the words past the lump in his throat.

She takes his hand in the silence instead, and for a moment at least everything might just be okay.


End file.
